


O Luve Will Venture In

by sorrowfulcheese



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese/pseuds/sorrowfulcheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>O luve will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen,<br/>O luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been;<br/>But I will down yon river rove, among the wood sae green,<br/>And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May.</p><p>(excerpt from 'The Posie' - Robert Burns)</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Luve Will Venture In

    The sun was high and Isabela was growing warm and sleepy. And hungry. Her back against a boulder, she shut her book and set it aside, drank down the last of the red wine in a nearby bottle, and set the bottle aside. She rose to kneel on the blanket she had spread out on the grass, and looked around.  
  
    Merrill was still on her hands and knees, rooting through the weeds. Isabela sat back on her heels and watched. Merrill had asked her to come along to watch her back, lest she become so absorbed in her 'gardening' that she be unaware of approaching enemies. Who would say no to such a request? But Isabela hadn't expected the little excursion to take half the day.  
  
    "There you are," Merrill crooned, as she shifted some long grass aside. "I knew I'd seen you before. I don't need all of you, of course. No sense in destroying my source, you know? I'll just take these big leaves, and you keep growing." She plucked several of the leaves and reached out beside her to place them into the ever-fuller basket she had brought along to collect her herbs and flowers.  
  
    The garden itself looked like little more than an overgrown wild patch, but Merrill had been very excited to find it. It had been, she said, planted deliberately and with a specific order that indicated it had once been a mage's herb garden.  
  
    At last Merrill sat back on her own heels and looked up at the sun. "It's lunch time," she declared to no one in particular, then stood with a graceful motion and scooped up the basket. She turned and saw Isabela watching her and her ears and cheeks turned bright pink. "Oh," she said. "I didn't mean to interrupt your reading. I talk to myself sometimes. Too much, I know."  
  
    "You didn't interrupt anything, Kitten," Isabela assured her. "Have you got all you need?"  
  
    "No, not yet," Merrill replied. "But it's lunch time."  
  
    "Ah." Isabela hesitated.  
  
    "I brought lunch for both of us," Merrill went on.  
  
    "Oh, that's lovely," Isabela said, and hoped she was hiding her unease. She wasn't picky about her food, but cooking wasn't Merrill's forte.  
  
    "Orana helped me make it," Merrill said, and knelt beside the blanket. "She says I have a very heavy hand with pastry, so she remade all the pastry for me."  
  
    "Pastry?" Isabela perked up. Orana was a delightful cook, and she really did have a nice touch when it came to baking.  
  
    Merrill produced a paper-wrapped package and even before she had unwrapped it Isabela smelled spicy sausage and buttery pastry and fresh egg, and she was for just a moment transported to her childhood—before her mother had converted to the Qun, before she had been sold into marriage. Merrill broke the pie in half and offered one half to Isabela. She took it and held it to her face and inhaled, bit into it and felt almost like shedding a tear. Foolish, of course, to cry over a pie. But she hadn't had a really good hornazo in far too long.  
  
    "Is it all right?" Merrill asked. "I hope it isn't insulting."  
  
    Isabela chuckled as she chewed and swallowed. "How can food be insulting?"  
  
    "You know me," Merrill laughed uneasily. "If there's a way to cause offense in something simple, I'll stumble across it. Orana said that if I made Rivaini food wrong, you might be angry. I just wanted to give you a little something you might like."  
  
    "In fact I love it," Isabela told her, and reached out to cup her hand around the back of Merrill's neck. She pulled Merrill close and dropped a spicy kiss on her lips, and was pleased that Merrill's cheeks and ears turned bright pink, and she fluttered a little. "Thank you, Kitten. No one's ever gone to this much trouble for me, before." _Not without expecting something, anyway._  
  
    Merrill had also brought a baked sweet potato, cut into slices, and some fresh fruit and cheese. As she ate Isabela wished she had thought to bring a second bottle of wine. When they had finished, Merrill wiped her hands and face daintily on a little cloth that she secreted somewhere in her armour, and then she stood and picked up her herb basket. "I won't be much longer," she promised. "You—if you need to go back to Kirkwall, just let me know."  
  
    "I'll be right here," Isabela assured her, and watched as Merrill tiptoed, barefoot, through the untidy 'garden' to find what she needed.  
  
    Isabela yawned and stretched, curled up on the blanket for a quick nap in the sunshine.  
  
    When she woke Merrill was sitting next to her on the blanket, humming softly and fiddling with some flowers. Isabela sat up and wished again for a bottle of wine. She rolled to her knees and peered into Merrill's lap to see what she was doing. The deft, scarred fingers were carefully weaving yellow flowers with white ones, all twined about with some fragrant green leaves. Merrill turned her head just a little to see Isabela and smiled. "Did you sleep well?" she asked.  
  
    "I did. What are you making, there? Is it part of your magic?"  
  
    "No," Merrill said. She lifted the circle of woven flowers and leaves and deposited it on Isabela's head, where it settled comfortably just above her ears. "I was thinking that since you're a Queen, you should have a crown. So I—made you one."  
  
    Isabela reached gingerly up to touch the flowers, and her chest tightened. It was such a childish thing to have done, but Merrill watched her solemnly, unself-conscious. Isabela made herself laugh. "I'm hardly a queen, Kitten," she said. "Not even a captain anymore."  
  
    "You have been, and you will be again," Merrill assured her. "If you're ready to go, I've gathered all I need." She stood and reached for her basket. Isabela folded the blanket and stuffed it into the satchel she'd used to carry it out here, and tucked her book in beside it. She left the empty wine bottle behind—someone was bound to find it and think it was treasure.  
  
    By the time they reached the Kirkwall gates, the sun was setting, and without a word Isabela walked with Merrill toward Lowtown. Merrill paused at the top of the stairs. "You don't have to come all the way with me," she said. "I know you've probably got better things to do."  
  
    "Like what?" Isabela chuckled. "I make my own schedule, Kitten."  
  
    "What about Fenris?"  
  
    "What about him? He's a big boy, he doesn't need me to tuck him in at night." She paused. "If you don't want to be seen with a human," she went on, softer, "I'll understand."  
  
    Merrill looked horrified. "Oh, no," she said. "Nothing like that. It's just—I'm sure you've been bored senseless all day, watching me pick weeds." She looked down at her bare toes. "Thank you for coming with me."  
  
    "Don't be an ass," Isabela said, and took Merrill's shoulders firmly in her hands. "Have you ever known me to do something I don't want to do?"  
  
    "No..."  
  
    "That's because I don't do things I don't want to do." She kissed Merrill's forehead. "I'll walk you home and then I'll head back to the Hanged Man. You're welcome to come along if you like."  
  
    "No," Merrill said, shyly. "I do have to prepare some of these tonight."  
  
    "Well, then. Let's be off." She slipped an arm around Merrill's tiny waist and walked down the stairs with her. Some of the locals gawped at the flowers in her hair; Isabela stared them down until they ducked their heads and slunk away.  
  
    There was some sort of celebration taking place around the vhenadahl, in the Alienage; there was singing and dancing, and the elves had set up torches to light up the courtyard. Merrill pulled away suddenly, hurried forward, slipped into her apartment and shut the door behind them with obvious relief.  
  
    "Don't you want to join them?" Isabela asked.  
  
    "No," Merrill said, and turned her back as she carried her basket to the table. "I don't—fit in well. I've tried joining in before, but they—don't know what to make of me." She set the basket down, turned back and smiled. "Can I get you anything?"  
  
    "No, thanks, Kitten. If you don't need me, I'll be off."  
  
    "Thank you, again," Merrill said. "I'm sorry for wasting your day."  
  
    "Time spent drinking and reading with a friend," Isabela assured her, "is never wasted." She slipped out into the Alienage, wove her way past the revelers, and left the echoing music behind.  
  
    There was a bard in the Hanged Man, strumming his lute and crooning softly. The place was filled with the usual crowd; Isabela moved almost instinctively to the table where Varric and Hawke and Anders sat playing Wicked Grace. She sat down between Hawke and Varric, and Varric dealt her in without a word. They played two hands in silence, and Isabela lost both times.  
  
    "Nice flowers," Anders said at last, as he shuffled the cards.  
  
    "I assume they're from Merrill," said Hawke, with a smile. "It seems like a Merrill thing to do."  
  
    "Yes, they're from Merrill," Isabela said.  
  
    "It's sweet," Varric declared. "A little out of character for you, Rivaini, but who am I to judge?" He grinned and downed his mug of ale. With just a tilt of his head he summoned a barmaid, who brought him another drink.  
  
     _I need to learn how he does that,_ Isabela thought.  
  
    "I note," Anders went on, "that she used jonquils and daisies, as well as some ivy."  
  
    She stared at him. "What does that mean?"  
  
    Anders raised an eyebrow. "How should I know?" he wondered, and began to deal.  
  
    She did not press the issue; the conversation turned to other topics and the game continued well into the night.  
  
    When the Hanged Man had emptied, when Varric had retired and Hawke and Anders had left for Hightown, and before she went to sleep, Isabela carefully set the flower crown on the bedside table. The smell of the flowers permeated her dreams.  
  
    In the morning she made her way to the Hawke estate. Bodahn let her in and told her quietly that the mistress was still asleep. Isabela assured him she would make no sound and strode past him, aware of Sandal's clear blue eyes on her as she passed. She spent the morning in Hawke's massive library, digging through the dullest books imaginable until she found what she needed, and she skimmed the pages rapidly.  
  
     _Daisy—"Innocence; I will think of you"_  
  
 _Jonquil—"I desire a return of affection"_  
  
 _Ivy—"Fidelity; Marriage"_  
  
    Isabela stared into middle distance for a very long time. At last she rose and let herself out the front door, and returned to Lowtown. The Hanged Man was just beginning to stir; in the kitchen the infamous Hanged Man stew was just starting to be made. She didn't stop to ask what was in it today. In his rooms, Varric was having a quiet breakfast alone, and he looked up without surprise to see her.  
  
    "Morning, Rivaini," he said. "You look more serious than usual. I didn't think you'd had that much to drink last night."  
  
    "I didn't," she said. "Mind if I join you?"  
  
    "Not at all. Are you hungry?"  
  
    "No, thank you. But I'll have a cup of tea if you've any."  
  
    "I don't. But I'll have some brought." Isabela had barely rested her bottom on the chair when Norah slipped in with a teapot, poured her a mugful of tea, and vanished again. "So, what's up? You're normally not even awake this time of day."  
  
    "I had something on my mind."  
  
    "Daisy's flowers?" Varric continued to eat, neatly.  
  
    "How did you know?"  
  
    "It's my business to know things, Rivaini. What did you find out?"  
  
    "I think it's a marriage proposal."  
  
    He chuckled. "It might be," he agreed. "Might mean something different to the Dalish, though."  
  
    "Maybe." Isabela sighed, sat back in her chair and blew on her tea. "Look, now that I've got my ship, I'm not going to stay around here for long."  
  
    "I'm sorry to hear that." Varric paused and looked up at her.  
  
    "I won't be leaving right away, of course," she said. "I need to get a crew together."  
  
    "Of course."  
  
    "I'm taking Merrill with me," she went on. "She needs to see the world. Needs to experience it. She'll go utterly numb in Kirkwall."  
  
    "You think being on the open water will be good for her," Varric suggested.  
  
    "She needs to be free of all the walls here," Isabela told him. "It's not good for her not to be outside in the sunshine all the time. And she needs to be with people who won't be constantly judging her."  
  
    "Absolutely."  
  
    She sipped her tea, and Varric continued with his breakfast, and Isabela daydreamed about being on the water again, feeling the salt spray on her face, kissing droplets of it from Merrill's soft lips—

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of Merabela fluff that rattled around in my head for a while.


End file.
